HEAD EMPTY ☆ recorder

[michael t.]

ALL I FOUND THE SPACE BETWEEN THE SPACES
STANDING IN THE NOTHING, AND TIME RECLAIMS YOU

Michael's day had started off fairly well. It was like any other, really. He had woken up, headed for the tavern for some breakfast, and then had decided to go for a patrol. The majority of his day was filled with his usual dealer duties, poking around to make sure that nothing bad was going on. He took special effort to greet others as he passed, his sociable nature part of what made him fit his job so well. Overall, he enjoyed his usual daily cycle, and as the afternoon arrived, he decided to head home and take a small nap. Just something to get him through the rest of the day, so that maybe he could host something at the tavern. Maybe a game of cards? That always seemed popular, and he could probably even rope Roan into it... his mind was running free as he approached his home, slipping inside the hut with a hum. When he stepped over the threshold into his room, however, he found himself slipping.

He wasn't sure what had caused him to trip, or slide, but before he knew it he was stumbling and falling forward, his head crashing against the nearby wall. Various objects from the shelf above came scattering down, bouncing off the ground as the dealer groaned in pain. When he was finally able to sit back up and rub at his own head with a paw, he found himself inspecting what other damage had been done. Nothing that had fallen from the shelf seemed to be broken, although... there was something among the wreckage he hadn't seen in quite a while. A recorder. One of the small battery-powered ones, covered in a thin layer of dust and letting out a soft hiss of static. The male tensed up as soon as he saw it, his mismatched gaze going wide as he just sat there for a moment, staring. After a long moment of nothing but silence, an all too familiar voice began to crackle to life through the speakers, "Mikey? What the hell have you got that recording shit out for? You know I hate it when you rec—" The dead man's words weren't allowed to finish, however. Michael went scrambling forward, slamming the stop button of the recorder with a trembling paw.

It took around five minutes before the bobcat was finally able to function again, lifting the recorder into his jaws. With a sigh, he turned and headed out to the porch, sitting down before he let it rest between his paws. He then stared down at the device for a long moment, eventually muttering softly to himself, "Maybe I should just... destroy it." His blue gaze drifted off over the beach, eventually landing on a large rock that sat nearby. It would be perfect to crush the recorder under if necessary. Although... these recordings were the last bits of Trevor that Michael truly had left. Did he really want to just crush them? It would save him the pain of hearing the other's voice again, but it would also deprive him of the opportunity to ever hear his husband's voice again, as well.

With another heavy sigh, the thief just glanced back down at the recorder between his front paws, seemingly at a loss as to what to do. He had hoped that the fresh air would clear his mind and help him make a decision. Unfortunately, it seemed as though even Mother Nature couldn't help him sort this one out.

— Reggan